The second bite of the apple | Dramoine

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Draco threw himself down on the hard cot Azkaban called a bed and stared at the stone ceiling.

Well, that went . . . strangely.

He couldn't help but reflect on the miserable turn his life had taken. The once proud and powerful Malfoy heir now reduced to a prisoner, relying on the girl he once bullied mercilessly for his freedom. It was laughable, really.

What would it be like, he wondered, if their roles were reversed? If Voldemort had won and the Death Eaters were in control. Granger would likely be the one in prison, probably a far worse one than he was in. Would he have helped her, given the chance?

Most likely not. Maybe he would have killed her himself, just to put her out of the misery she would surely be experiencing at the hands of the Death Eaters.

The thought darkened his mood, and as horrible as his current predicament was, he couldn't help but be relieved that the situation was not reversed. Even if it would've meant his freedom.

It was odd, but seeing her again was a bright spot in his recent pitiful existence. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to talk to another human being besides his family. Something about seeing her, specifically with her crazy hair, reminded Draco of a simple time-a better time-of being at Hogwarts and having no real worries.

He liked it. Being able to remember that he once had a life outside this cell. Would he ever have that again? It was pathetic, but for some reason, Hermione Granger gave him a sliver of hope.

Maybe his mother was right. Maybe if anyone could help him, it was Granger. She was clever, he knew that-and resourceful. But she certainly didn't owe him anything. That thought sobered him.

"Visitor!" a guard called, unlocking his door. Draco pushed himself off his bed and followed him back to the meeting room.

Inside, his mother waited at the table where he'd sat with Hermione earlier. Draco embraced her and placed a swift kiss on her cheek.

"Well?" Narcissa inquired. "The Granger girl?"

"She was here."

"Good." His mother sat down, a smile on her face. "That's good, Draco."

"Maybe." He narrowed his eyes at his dangerously clever mother. "What exactly did you tell her yesterday?"

His mother sniffed. "Just the facts. This current Ministry is a sham."

"Uh-huh . . ." Draco replied dubiously. He knew his mother had certain notions about him when it came to Hermione Granger. It all started when she'd witnessed his chat with her, Potter, and Weasley at the Quidditch World Cup. Ever since, his mother had watched him carefully whenever Hermione Granger was brought up in a conversation.

His mother's keen eye was what had caused Draco to identify Granger at the Manor that fateful night. He knew his mother recognized Granger, and if he'd blatantly lied about her identity, Narcissa would've known he was lying about Potter as well.

More than anything, Draco had not wanted Voldemort to be called that night. He didn't want the death of his three classmates on his hands, or to have to watch it, no matter how much he despised them. However, Draco's actions that evening only fueled his mother's outrageous assumptions.

Between that night and the Quidditch World Cup, Draco really didn't know why he'd acted the way he had. Perhaps there was a small part of him that felt momentarily protective toward the irritating girl. Obviously, her useless friends couldn't be trusted to keep her safe.

Not that Hermione Granger needed anyone to protect her. He knew all too well that she had a solid right hook and a defiant temperament. But those qualities wouldn't have gone far against a band of ruthless Death Eaters.